The Way Things Are
by Elayna Fournier
Summary: Ryan Evans has never been in the spotlight...until his mother's death. Now he would give anything to be invisible again. Starts at beginning of movie
1. Chapter 1

The Way Things Are

Hey, I'm Ryan Evans. You may think that you've never heard about me before, but you probably have and just don't remember. Do you know Sharpay Evans? Yeah, she's my twin sister. Now, do you remember that blond kid right behind her? Yeah, that's me. Her shadow.

That, however, is not the point. This story isn't about her. This story is about me and my life. Goodness knows, Sharpay has enough attention. It's my turn.

Anyways, this story starts in my junior year. The beginning of the year started like any other might. We got our schedules, found our classes, and settled into another yearly routine. And just like every year, I was following Sharpay around, doing what she requested of me, listening to her every word. And just like every year, we started preparing for any and all musicals.

Then we got to December, and soon we were let out for winter break (rather than Christmas break because that's not politically correct). Anyways, Sharpay and I spent most of our break practicing our routine for the winter musical. Really, I thought we were doing very well and that we would get the part with no competition. I mean, we've always gotten the lead parts in the musicals. That's just how things are.

Sharpay and I have gotten the lead roles since kindergarten. Our roles in drama, though increasingly similar, were also different. While Sharpay had the competitive spirit and the skills with dancing and singing, I had the passion. I am a good singer and dancer as well, but she's better at choreographing and harmonizing. Regardless of that, I had the passion. I loved being onstage, feeling the heat of the lights, the applause of the audience, and the character that I was portraying. Sharpay saw it as a way to stand out, a way to attract more attention (as if she needs anymore).

Anyways, rehearsing for an upcoming musical was usually the way we spent any of our breaks. She would be "perfect" of course and I would always "need improvement". Regardless, the practice was good for us. Though we've always gotten the parts, we still had to be prepared for something unexpected.

That winter break, though, was different from the others. It was a typical day, three days after Christmas. My mother had gone out to buy some groceries as we had somehow managed to run out of leftovers (no small feat I might add). Anyways, Sharpay and I were rehearsing the song we were going to perform at the audition and she was yelling at me as usual. My "spirit fingers" weren't "spirity" enough.

"Ryan, can't you do anything right?" Sharpay asked, rolling her eyes impatiently. I glared at her slightly but didn't dare say anything. That's just how things are.

"Sorry," I mumbled before heading back to my starting position. We were putting the finishing touches on the dance section for the song _What I've Been Looking For_. Now, do you remember how I said I love singing and dancing. Yeah, not on this song. At first I did, and then I had to listen to it over and over and over again. There's no ceasing! That's one of the downsides of musicals. After a while, you have to listen to the music so much to get the cues and everything that you end up hating it. It's worth it though.

Sharpay hits play on the cd player with the music on it and we start dancing again, and then enter vocals. I think we sound brilliantly, considering that this is just an audition, but Sharpay won't hear anything about it. We need to be perfect-even though that goes against my belief that perfection is merely a figment of the imagination that can be dreamed about but never achieved.

Anyways, that's totally off topic. So, we're rehearsing and I'm, typically, doing a lousy job (according to Sharpay).

"You did it wrong again, Ryan!" she shrieks, frustration coursing through her voice. "It's really not that hard!"

I rolled my eyes again and bit back a harsh retort. To say anything against her would be going against our own personal hierarchy. That's just how things are.

Sharpay started again, but just as the cues for the vocalist came up, the phone rang. I pressed pause as she flipped her hair out of her face and hurried over to answer the phone. Meanwhile, I sat back into one of our couches.

I'm not going to lie. My family is fairly rich. Okay, that's lying. My family is totally rich. I'd like to think that this doesn't create my character, but I know it does and to say otherwise would be more lying. It's not like I'm a jerk (at least I don't think so), we just…were more blessed than other people. Honestly, I've always wondered what it would be like to live on a strict budget rather than being capable of living flamboyantly. However, because of my family's great wealth (my father invented the toaster strudel, go figure), I live in a fairly big house with a lot of expensive furniture that my mom would probably kill me for looking at, let alone sitting on. This thought makes me stand up quickly and I walk over to an older couch.

After flinging myself upon it, I glance at my sister. A worried look is on her face, which has turned deathly pale. Tears are glistening in her eyes and she looks like she's about to fall apart. For a moment I think she's acting with a friend or something, but when I sit up and observe her closer, I can see that she is indeed deeply troubled. I stand up and walk over to her, a concerned expression on my face.

As I lean against the wall next to the phone, I hear her breathe in deeply before softly saying, "Thank you …yes, I'll call him as soon as I can. Yes…Thank you. Good bye."

She hung up the phone and stood there, staring at the wall blankly. I look at her intently, waiting for her to say something. She doesn't. Instead she just stands there. Her behavior is starting to scare me. It's not like her to be so quiet, especially when something dramatic has just happened. But I don't press her. I'll wait until she's ready to tell me what happened. That's just how things are.

Sharpay walks over and sits on the couch moments later, mom's expensive couch. I raise my eyebrows at this but don't say anything.

"Don't worry, mom won't get angry about my sitting on her new expensive couch," Sharpay snaps, laughing hollowly.

"Why not?" I ask, confused.

Another hollow laugh. I'm starting to get scared. "She's not coming home, Ryan," Sharpay whispers. "She finally let her own stupidity kill her…she's not coming home."

I stop moving. "What?"

"She was over the speed limit and crashed into a tree." Sharpay shook her head numbly. "The only fucking tree in a 90 mile radius and she hit it. Amazing."

Quickly, she stood up. "I'm going out for a drive. Tell dad. I might be home late."

With that, she exited the living room, leaving me home alone to explain both my mother's death and Sharpay's absence. But I don't stop her. That's just how things are.

A.N. This is my first venture away from the Harry Potter realm (unless you count Pong, which I'm not). Anyways, I hope you like this. I'm going to have fun writing this, even if you don't enjoy reading it. Um, I'd like it if you reviewed, but if you don't, thanks for reading it anyways. Later!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The funeral was three days later and two days before school started again. School. Damn. School was going to be a miserable façade. I shook my head, not wanting to think about it.

My father and I had gone to visit the scene of the crash a day after the accident. Sharpay had remained at home due to the "emotional stress" that it could cause. Perhaps she was the smart one…

The car was in terrible condition. It was bent totally out of shape; the windows had shattered, leaving glass all over the seats and the dashboard. She had been driving on a straight road, so she had probably been going at least 60 miles per hour.

I closed my eyes, trying to envision the last few moments of her life. I could almost feel the panic boiling in her stomach. I could almost hear the screech of the tires, the loud crash, the sickening crunch of various bones. I could almost smell the smoke. Almost…

Reopening my eyes, I saw my dad walking around the car. He had the face of a stoic, and it worried me. Spontaneously, he would touch the car- the steering wheel, the seat, the hood. Chewing on his bottom lip, fighting back tears, he turned to me.

"Now there's nothing left to our imaginations. We can surmise almost exactly what happened," he said monotonously. "Our minds can't play tricks on us anymore."

I gaze at him for a moment, wondering what he was talking about. Then it hit me. He must have been having nightmares and needed to confront the truth before he could move on.

"Come on," my father said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. My father had never been a touchy-feely kinda guy, so this gesture was kind of weird.

"Things are going to be a lot different from now on," he said, squeezing my shoulder hard. A little _too_ hard. I squirmed and winced a little bit, pulling away from him as we reached the car. Before I got in, I gently massaged my shoulder. It would probably be a bruise by tomorrow (I bruise easily).

The car ride home was virtually silent. The radio was tuned on to a country station, turned down low. It took all my willpower to not reach out and turn the mournful music off. However, my dad seemed to be content listening to it so I figured I could tolerate it for ten more minutes.

It was still sinking in that my mother had just died. It seemed like just yesterday she had been sitting with us at dinner, talking about what we were doing in school, how her job was going, and asking about Dad's day. Heck, it almost was just yesterday. The mere thought of knowing that I would never again see her walk through the door with a cheerful smile on her face was so devastating that I felt like my life had become one of the country songs my dad was so fond of.

As my dad pulled into the driveway, we came to a complete stop and my dad put the car into park and turned off the ignition. I was about to open the door to get out when I noticed that he was still sitting behind the wheel, motionlessly staring at the house with blank eyes. While it was incredibly awkward in the car, I didn't think it would be right to just leave him alone while he was in so much pain.

"Dad…" I began, but the words faded from my mouth as he began to bang his fists on the steering wheel, angry tears streaming from his face.

"Why did he have to be her?" he hissed. SMACK, SMACK, his fists hit the steering wheel, making me jump slightly. "Why the HELL did it have to be her?" He turned his angry gaze to me, making my blood run cold. "Why couldn't it have been you?" he snapped, reaching out and punching me hard in the arm.

"Dad, what…" I started again, my voice trailing off as he punched me again in the arm, harder. I was starting to get scared. Really scared.

My dad and I had never gotten along. He wanted a son who could be strong, all muscles and no fat, all sports and no fun, all hard and no soft. I was just the opposite. I hated sports and while I'm not fat, I'm definitely not muscular, and I'm far to emotional for my dad's taste (even though I haven't actually displayed emotions in years). To put it bluntly, I was the failure my dad had never wanted. I was the son that ended up being the biggest disappointment of his life. As such, our relationship was pretty much idle chatter with little or no meaning and occasional glares or snide remarks on his part. As for me, I gave up trying to please him years ago, after discovering that nothing I would ever do could possibly ever convince him that I was worthy of loving.

So here I am, sitting in a car with my infuriated father who has just lost the most beloved person in the world to him. And I have been reduced to his punching bag.

"IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!" he roared, this time slapping me hard across the face. I yelped slightly and backed away from any more attacks. "SHE WAS OUT TO BUY YOUR BIRTHDAY PRESENTS! YOU KILLED HER! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

At this revelation, I flinched back, a wave of guilt washing over me. Sharpay's and my birthday is in a week. This would be our first birthday without Mom. And knowing that she had died while buying my birthday presents hurt far more than any of the blows that my father had dealt me.

I sat frozen, dwelling over the guilt that I felt as my dad hit me a few more times in desperation. I didn't even feel it anymore. I was numb to the physical pain. As for now, the emotional agony was far worse than anything my dad could have done.

Eventually, he exhausted himself out and slumped against the steering wheel. I sat straight, staring out the front window blankly, not really seeing or feeling anything except guilt and pain. The echo of my dad's words reverberated through my mind. _"YOU KILLED HER!_ _IT'S YOUR FAULT!" _Indeed it was. I killed her. It _is _my fault. It's my fault…

After a while, my father must have realized what he had just done, for he looked up at me, horror shining through his eyes. "Oh gods, Ryan," he whispered softly, looking at me as if he had never seen me before. "I can't believe I…I am so sorry. I didn't mean…I mean, are you…I'm so sorry. I'm just so…can you please forgive me? I really didn't mean to…I'm sorry."

I glanced up at him, not caring what he said. In my opinion, there was nothing to forgive. I had totally deserved his rage. I actually probably deserved more. But I couldn't tell him that. I knew he felt bad. Just because we didn't get along didn't mean he wanted to beat me. But there are always exceptions to the rules, and this is one of them.

So I merely smiled slightly, and shrugged, my way of accepting his apology. Although it didn't ease my personal guilt and physical pain, I knew it would ease his if I simply acknowledged his apology. I didn't want to upset him more. I would always do everything in my power to keep him happy.

That's just the way things are.

A.N. I'm sorry it was such a long time since I last updated. I suck at updating and thinking so it takes a while sometimes. I actually know where I'm going with this one…I think. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you feel inclined to do so, please review. Otherwise, thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The rest of winter break passed by slowly, filled with excruciating silence, anger, frustration, and guilt. Dad spent most of his time at work or at some bar in town- which was quite alright with me, considering I had painful bruises and a split lip after our last encounter. Sharpay spent most of her time either locked in her room or wandering around the house like a lost puppy, a pathetic, hopeless look on her face.

Mother had been her idol, her friend, and her confidant. In her eyes, our mother was perfect, the image of what every woman should be. She was successful, married to a wealthy man, talented, and had the personality that almost everyone loved. Sharpay lived to be exactly like her in every way possible. And now that she was gone, there was really no one for Sharpay to look up to. Now Sharpay was forced to find her own course in life. I had a feeling her quest for self-finding would be a long, painful course for her. Either way, she didn't want her clumsy twin brother in her way.

As such, I pretty much kept to myself, sitting in the living room (avoiding the new couch) watching the television, standing in the kitchen making tuna sandwiches, or practicing in our music room, singing mournful songs to fit my mood. As of right now, I was in the music room, sitting at the piano and staring at a piece of music that I just couldn't figure out.

It was a Sonata and wasn't really that difficult. I had just never played it before so I was trying to figure out the tune in my head while playing one hand first and then the second hand. See, I'm not the most coordinated person in the world. What you see on stage is the result of months and months of tiring practice. Without that practice, I would have bad timing, would be tripping all over the place, and would pretty much infuriate my sister.

As such, the piano is not really the instrument for me. Really, the instrument that I enjoy playing the most is the saxophone (alto preferably, but I also love the tenor). Almost no one knows I play the saxophone except for Sharpay and Mom. It was an instrument that I had picked up about five years ago in a music store when we were perusing for a flute for Sharpay. I saw it, pointed it out to my mom and she smiled, saying, "You want to play the saxophone? I think it's perfect for you!" And just like that, she bought it and some books so I could learn how to play.

It took a while, but I got a tutor who one day introduced me to jazz. I fell in love with the music immediately. It was so syncopated and rhythmic and just had such a heart-felt feel to it that it was just so…I don't even know how to explain it. I guess it just touched some part of my heart and it kept me going with the saxophone. However, just thinking of the instrument makes me feel so sad. I glance over at it and feel guilt clutch at my heart again. My mom was so glad that I had chosen a musical instrument as well. Her favorite instrument to be precise.

I stood up and walked over to it, gently running my fingers over its keys and pressing down on a few of them. It's amazing how something that you love so much and have so much passion for can cause you so much pain. Feeling tears welling up in my eyes, I withdrew my hand and placed it in my pocket. Maybe someday I'll be able to pick it up again, but not for a while.

"Ryan?" a soft voice called from behind me. I turned around and saw Sharpay standing in the doorway, her arms around her chest in a protective manner and mascara running down her face. I raised my eyebrows slightly.

"What?" I asked, moving back over to the piano and sitting down. I beckoned for her to come and sit with me and she did, moving slowly and gazing around at all of the instruments and their cases.

"She's never coming home, is she?" Sharpay said. It was a rhetorical question but I still felt the need to reply.

"No," I said, glancing away from her and staring at the door, willing my mom to walk through it and to yell, "Ha! Joke's on you!" Of course she wouldn't, but no one ever said that hope was futile, although I'm starting to believe it is.

Sharpay sighed, obviously melancholy. "I just can't believe I'm not gonna see her again." She looked up at me, tears in her big brown eyes. "I miss her so much and I don't know what to do. It's like she was the only thing that ever made me…well, me. And I know I sound selfish, but I need her. I need her so much and I know that I can't ever go to her and ask her for some help learning the music, or I can't go to her and ask if an outfit looks alright. I won't be able to chat with her when I'm older and married and have kids. Heck, she won't ever see my kids…or my wedding. And I…I just don't know what to do. I'm so lost…"

I looked at my sister, not knowing what to say. She had just put into words what I had been feeling since the day she died. I couldn't comfort her because I myself needed to be reassured that everything would be alright. Of course, everything wouldn't be alright. But I could hope right?

Downstairs, I heard the door open and my father's heavy step. "RYAN! SHARPAY!" he yelled up the stairs. Sharpay stood up immediately, wiping her eyes so it looked like she hadn't been crying. I knew better though. She shook her hair back and straightened her back so she looked haughty.

"Coming, Dad," she yelled back down the stairs before heading towards the door, gesturing for me to follow. And I did.

That's just the way things are.

A. N. I hope you liked this. I do. Um…please review, and if you don't then thanks for reading anyways. Laters!


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